Archibald
by LadyAlambiel
Summary: Archibald. Or, a tale of two kings and a desert mishap.


Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.

Summary: Archibald. Or, a tale of two kings and a desert mishap.

A/N: This story is part of my _A Light in the Darkness_ universe. Enjoy!

 **Archibald**

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Raucous laughter filled the air, blistering it like the sun. Peter feigned sleep even as he felt Edmund's fingers tugging at the ropes binding his wrists. Aslan willing, the bandits wouldn't come over to check on them any time soon. It had been three days since the ambush. He wasn't sure if their horses had bolted to Lune's stables or further to Cair Paravel. Whichever destination was still far enough away that it could be days more before anyone knew to come searching for them. If only he hadn't suggested going on one last hunt before returning to Narnia.

A shout caused him to peek cautiously at the large campfire. Two of the bandits were scuffling while their compatriots shouted gleeful bets on who would win. No one was looking at them. Now would be the perfect time to leave if Ed could get the ropes loose enough.

Peter anxiously tested his bindings. Blast it! Still too tight.

Edmund hissed, "Wait."

Forcing himself to calm and cease his wriggling, Peter had to admit that his little brother had the right of it. He stole another glance at their captors. The fight had broken up and the men were passing around a flask no doubt filled with some potent alcohol. One of them turned toward them but didn't react like he'd seen anything suspicious before he raised the flask to his lips, gulped, and then belched loudly as he passed the flask to his nearest comrade. No, Edmund was right. They needed to wait just a little longer. Once the bandits fell asleep then they would be able to steal away from camp _with_ at least some supplies, primarily water. Or else, the desert would kill them more surely than the Calormene bandits who had abducted them in the first place.

After a few more tugs, Peter felt the rough rope slacken around his wrists and then Edmund shoved his still bound wrists between his hands. The noise around the campfire had begun to die down by the time he finally managed to loosen Edmund's restraints to the point his brother could slip free.

Yet, hours seemed to drag past and the desert night grew only colder as they waited for the bandits to fall asleep. Only when the last man's raspy snores filled the air did Peter dare to move. He clenched his fingers and shook his hands in an attempt to drive back the lingering numbness. Then, he attacked the ropes binding his ankles. Edmund was already free, crouching by his side, as Peter yanked the last rope off. He eased into a crouching position.

Edmund raised his hand and pointed two fingers to Peter's right.

He gave a swift nod and crept toward the bandits' cache of stolen goods. They needed their weapons. Halfway to the cache, Peter froze mid-step as one of the bandits snorted but the man only rolled onto his side and mumbled something about goats before his wheezy snoring resumed. _Aslan, protect us. Shield our movements._ His thoughts filled with prayer more than strategy, he continued forward. Rhindon and Shafhelm were haphazardly sticking out of the pile of stolen goods, yet he dared not risk any loud noise by yanking both swords free at once. They needed more time or else all their efforts to this point would be rendered moot.

Moving with exaggerated care, Peter cautiously slid Rhindon out of the pile. Placing the sword by his feet, he reached out for Shafhelm. Something shifted in the pile. Clinking glass or perhaps coins shattered the silence. Peter froze. His heart beat a frantic tempo in his chest, seeking to burst free, as he waited for the bandits to wake, to discover their escape attempt.

No one moved. The snoring continued unabated.

Peter closed his eyes as he breathed a silent 'Thank You.' Then, he finished easing Shafhelm from the cache. Picking up both swords, he stole away from the sleeping men, not daring to stand up straight until he was in the desert.

Edmund wasn't waiting for him.

Frowning, Peter fastened Rhindon around his waist before searching for his little brother. Where was he? During the few hours when they had been free of the filthy rags serving as makeshift gags and also relatively unsupervised by the bandits, they had agreed to meet at a point just far enough from camp that they could see the campfire but were still hidden by a dune. Where was his brother?

Peter started moving back toward the bandits' camp only to stop short as a skinny shadow detached itself from the night. Edmund. A heavy sigh of relief escaped him as he grasped Edmund's arm. "What took you?"

His brother knocked his hand away. "Had a minor hitch in the plans but I fixed it. Here, take these. I made sure they're filled with water and not whatever noxious brew our friends were indulging in."

Peter accepted the two waterskins as he passed Edmund Shafhelm. "What was the delay?"

"Does it matter?" Edmund snapped. "Come on, we need to move."

With that his little brother jogged into the desert.

It was easiest to navigate at night. Spearhead was their compass and steady guide, never varying in his nightly dance. A faint sense of dread pricked at Peter as dawn's pale fingers stretched across the horizon, slowly and steadily hiding the stars from view, until there was only the golden desert. It stretched out for miles on end in every direction as far as the eye could see.

He glanced at Edmund. "Do you want to stop now?"

"What? We've barely put enough distance between us and those bandits. Unless you want to be caught again, Pete, and find ourselves standing on the auction block in a Calormene slave market a sennight from now or sooner more like." He shook his head. "No. We have to keep moving. At least, until the true heat of the day comes."

It seemed sound enough logic. However, as the day progressed and the desert sun slowly roasted them, Peter kept feeling that something wasn't right. If only because their escape seemed almost too easy. He looked over at his brother. "Does it seem like- I say, Ed! Are you all right? Edmund? Edmund!"

His brother jerked his head up, swallowed hard, and then swiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve. "What is it, Peter? Do you see someone following us?"

"No, but you look awful."

"Bloody observant of you, Pete. We've only been dragged through the desert for the better part of three days after being ambushed on a hunt by Calormene bandits. And, have you looked at yourself lately? Hardly magnificent at the moment."

"That's not what I meant. What was that delay last night?"

Edmund snorted. "A delay. I took care of it. Keep walking." Then his flushed, sunburnt complexion abruptly shifted to sickly white. He pressed a hand to his side, stumbled once, and then he collapsed.

Peter watched in horror as his brother's limp body tumbled down the side of the large dune they'd been crossing. "Edmund!"

There was no response. Edmund didn't move.

"Edmund!" Peter shouted again as he half-ran, half-slid down the dune. The sand burned his hands as he fought to maintain his balance, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was reaching Edmund. "Edmund!"

His brother remained motionless, not even reacting when Peter's frantic scramble caused sand to cascade over him. Sliding into him, Peter pressed his fingers against Edmund's throat. The tight vise around his chest easing slightly when he found a pulse, fast and thready, but it was there. Thank Aslan, it was there. He brushed his dark hair off his sweaty brow. "Eddie?"

Still no response.

Edmund had touched his side…

Peter placed his hand at the same place he had seen his brother grasping at then withdrew it with a gasp. Red stained his fingertips. Blood. Edmund's blood. A gaping gash oozed blood, dripping down Edmund's side to stain the golden sand beneath.

 _Oh Aslan, how will we survive this?_

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"You should leave him to me. I would be, mmm, delighted to help ease the burden."

"He isn't dead and I'm not going to leave him," Peter panted through grit teeth. Tightening his grip on Edmund's arm and waist, he heaved his little brother off the burning sand. "Come on, Ed. It's almost nightfall. We need to keep moving."

"Trying…"

"Not by much," came the low sepulchral voice. A strong downdraft ruffled Peter's hair as an ominous shadow passed over them. "As I said, I would be, mmm, delighted to take care of him."

Peter glared at the shadow. "I am not letting you eat my brother. He's not dead."

"He is almost dead."

"Amn't," Edmund slurred. He took a step then staggered, nearly falling down again.

The shadow wheeled overhead once more then landed beside Edmund. The Vulture bobbed his bald, wrinkled head then plucked at Edmund's sleeve. "He will not last much longer in the desert. You know this. Will you not let me, mmm, ease the burden?"

Peter glared at the Vulture and tugged Edmund closer, trying to put more space between them and the Vulture. But the Bird kept hopping alongside them. "Go away, Vulture!"

The Vulture flapped his large wings as he easily hopped ahead of them. "My name is Archibald."

"Pleasure to meet you," Edmund groaned. He raised his head enough to glare at the Bird. "I'm always delighted to know who wants to eat me by name."

"I have always prided myself on my, mmm, manners with fresh food."

Peter grit his teeth. "I told you yesterday go away. We are just fine without you constantly trying to eat us."

The Vulture cocked his head and clacked his beak. "I am not trying to, mmm, eat you both. Just the weak one. If you leave him with me, mmm, you won't be slowed down and might make it out of the desert alive."

"He's not dead."

"Yet. But soon. Sooner if you keep, mmm, moving."

Peter glared at him. "You don't know that. Go away, Archibald. Come on, Ed. It's not much further to Narnia."

"Another three days the way you are going. He will not make it. Why don't you just, mmm, leave him with me?"

"No!" Peter snapped. Adjusting his hold on Edmund, he got him slowly moving forward again. The awkward shuffle was painfully slow. Edmund's face was pale and large shadows ringed his eyes. He looked half-dead. Peter shoved that thought away. They would make it. Aslan willing, they would make it.

"You will not make it, not with your brother slowing you down. It is, mmm, impossible. Your water will not last long enough since you keep, mmm, using it to forestall the inevitable." Archibald flapped his wings again. "He's, mmm, almost dead. Vultures know these things. He won't last past morn."

"N-not dead," Edmund mumbled even as he sagged against Peter.

Peter tightened his grip on his little brother. A glance up proved the sun was still a large, red orb in the west, not yet sunk far enough into his bed to alleviate the heat pounding the desert. "Come on, Eddie. We need to get home. The girls will have a fit if you faint."

His fear and worry grew when Edmund didn't even try to retort or correct him about the fainting. It had worked yesterday. Peter cast another worried glance at the sky, half-tempted to stop and let his brother rest but he couldn't deny that their water supply was running low. When Archibald first found them it had been after Peter had carelessly knocked over one of the waterskins, spilling the precious water across the sands. The Vulture had taken to following them ever since always offering to take care of Edmund for him. Ha! As though, he would ever leave Edmund behind. He was going to get his brother help, even if he had to carry him.

Edmund stumbled then slipped from his grasp, tumbling down the dune and leaving a bright red trail staining the golden sand.

"Edmund!"

No answer, not even movement.

"Edmund!"

Archibald let out a croaking cry and glided down to where Edmund's prone body lay limp in the sand.

"Get away from him," Peter roared as he slipped and slid down the dune. "Leave him alone!"

Archibald beat his wings, stirring up the sand, then hopped a few paces away. "I was only, mmm, trying to determine if he were dead."

Peter frantically checked Edmund's pulse. It was still there. Thank Aslan, it was still there. "He's not dead."

"Yet," Archibald intoned ominously. "A few more hours and that will be, mmm, remedied."

He cut the Vulture a disgusted look. "I told you to go away."

"And, mmm, miss a bountiful meal? That would be foolish, wouldn't it?" Archibald hopped a little closer, a gleam in his eyes that chilled Peter to the core. "It will be soon. Mmm, very soon."

"No, it won't."

Without waiting for the Vulture to say anything else or make an attempt to harm Edmund further, Peter grabbed his brother and heaved him onto his shoulders. He had to hurry. There had to be search parties out by now. Surely they thought to sweep the desert too. Oreius wouldn't leave any route unsearched.

He staggered through the sand, praying for help, as Edmund's blood slickened his grip on his arm. He had to keep going.

"You should leave him with me. It is, mmm, too far and too late for him now. Just leave him and go. You will live. It is what he would, mmm, want. Better you live than you both die, do you not, mmm, agree?"

Peter grit his teeth. He was growing more and more tempted to strike the blasted Vulture's head off. If he wasn't carrying Edmund…

The Vulture croaked again. "Come now, come. Leave him with me. It is, mmm, time to let go."

Peter tightened his grip on Edmund as he kept trudging forward, trudging north. The stars would be out soon. Spearhead would be out. He could figure out the distance better at night. They had to be closer to Narnia, to some kind of help than Archibald claimed. They had to be.

"Leave him. It is, mmm, time."

A raptor's cry split the air. Archibald flared his wings and hunched his neck as he peered up at the sky. "Mmm, now why?"

Another shriek and Archibald flapped his wings hard, launching himself up into the sky. Before the Vulture rose very high, a small dark shape darted down and slammed into him. Another defiant shriek. "Leave off, you carrion! Leave off!"

Archibald hissed. "The dead one is, mmm, mine."

"Leave off!" The smaller shape darted down, once more slamming into the Vulture.

Archibald let out a harsh croak and then ponderously flew off.

Another piercing cry filled the air and Peter looked up in time to see a Hawk hovering above them. He licked his cracked lips and then called, "You have our thanks, good Hawk. Are we far from Narnia, cousin?"

"Still far! Still far!" The Hawk let out another piercing cry as he wheeled sharply. "This way, High King! This way!"

"Where?" Yet, even as he asked the question, Peter quickened his pace as best he could to follow after the Hawk.

"To aid! To aid!" The Hawk wheeled ever higher, shrieking with delight as he went.

"Aid?" Peter mumbled under his breath, not quite able to believe the Hawk though hope still burned bright in his chest. If there was aid, Edmund would live.

A horn's sweet call filled the air then the ground shook beneath his feet. Hooves. Heavy hooves. Peter's legs gave out and Edmund slipped limply from his grasp as he collapsed.

"Hurry! Over there."

"Let her through. The kings need a healer."

"Peter, look at me." The last voice stuck with him, the only soft feminine voice in the tumult. Then, a gentle touch to his forehead and chin made him look up. A woman was looking at him, concern in her blue eyes. She smiled.

Peter managed a slight smile in return. "Oh, hi, Kat. What are you doing here?"

"Oh just keeping you two from dying. Again."

"Ed, he's…"

"I know. Shh. Give him something to drink then take him to camp." The last she must have directed to someone else because Peter suddenly found a flask thrust into his hands as Kat moved away.

He gulped down the blessedly cool water then looked up. Oreius was watching him. A glint of concern slipping past the Centaur's stoic expression as he forced him to raise the flask to his lips again. His sudden thirst surprised him and he eagerly gulped from the flask once more. Only then did he lower the flask and ask breathlessly, "Edmund?"

The Centaur looked to the side. "Alambiel is tending him."

Peter nodded mutely.

"Oreius! We need to get him to camp so I can treat his wound. He's lost a lot more blood than is good for him."

"What's happening?"

No one answered. Peter struggled to his feet just as Oreius galloped off, Edmund cradled in his arms. "Wait."

"Come on, Peter. Here, Philip, will you take him?"

"Philip," Peter mumbled.

The chestnut Horse nudged his chest. "Here, High King. Let's go see how my boy is doing. I never should have let you go alone. My boy always gets into trouble when I'm not there to protect him. We were beginning to fear that you had been taken to the slave markets already."

Peter mumbled a response that even he didn't understand. All he cared about was finding out if Edmund lived. He had to know, he had to…

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"Peter. Peter, wake up."

He shook his head, trying to get away from the prodding fingers, only to startle. He opened his eyes, gasping. "Edmund!" He sat straight up, flinging off the covers only to stop short as he finally recognized the figure sitting by the bed. "T-Thalia?"

His wife smiled. "Peter, you are awake."

"Edmund," he mumbled. He stumbled out of bed. "Where is he? Where are we? Not Cair Paravel."

"No, the southern lodge. Peter, wait."

He couldn't stop. Not even for his Flower. He had to find Edmund. Now.

He heard a low murmur in another room. Shoving the door open, he stopped short at the sight of Kat and Oreius. Kat was washing her hands in a bowl while the General stood close by her side. She glanced at him and then nodded at the bed.

Edmund was propped against a mound of pillows, his face pale but his eyes were open and he seemed to be breathing all right. He scowled at him. "What are you doing, Pevensie? Don't you know it's the middle of the night?"

"Is it?" Peter shook his head and then strode for the bed, grasping his brother's hand tightly. "Are you all right? What happened? Why are we here and not Cair Paravel?"

"Because Cair Paravel was too far for the two of you to travel safely," Kat interjected. "I would also thank you to not rile your brother because I just finished redoing his stitches after he nearly killed himself trying to find you."

"Edmund."

"Peter," his brother sniped back. "Quiet down before you wake the girls and they'll start fussing at us again. And all that unnecessary kissing."

Peter laughed, reaching back to wrap his free arm around Thalia as she came closer. "I'm so glad you're alive. I was beginning to really worry that Vulture was going to be right after all."

"Did Archibald attempt to eat you?" Oreius asked.

"Yeees," Peter hesitated then asked, "How did you know his name?"

"You were in the desert," the Centaur stated simply.

Kat smirked. "Archibald tries to eat everyone. He even tried to eat Oreius when we passed through the area last month."

Peter opened his mouth then closed it. Oreius wrapped his arm around his wife and guided her out the door. Peter looked after them for a moment, glanced at Thalia's bewildered expression, and then shook his head. He didn't want to imagine how that encounter had gone. He looked at his brother. "Next time, we won't sneak off on a hunt."

"It was your idea, Pevensie. I told you it was a stupid thing to do."

"You did not."

"Did too. I said 'Peter, this is a stupid thing to do.'"

"That's not how I remember it."

"That's because your brain has been sunbaked."

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 **A/N: Please Read and Review! Okay, this little gem was requested by WillowDryad and is posted in honor of her birthday today. Happy birthday, my friend! Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.**


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